


Solitude

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Fallen Castiel, Meditation, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Sam have slipped into a morning routine at the bunker and Castiel couldn't be happier about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> _I was prompted to write Castiel + anyone in solitude on tumblr._

Every morning, just as the sun is beginning to make its way into the sky, Sam and Castiel exit the bunker together.  Both early risers, they leave Dean and Kevin behind to greet the new day.  Sam puts on headphones and takes off running while Castiel makes his way here to a large, flat boulder that overlooks a shallow creek.

He tried running - once - at Sam's behest, but he went home sweaty and overheated and feeling  _much_ worse for the wear.  When he'd complained about the sticky state of his skin, Dean had laughed and called him a 'shrinking violet', whatever that means.  The next morning, Sam had given Castiel a book of people with their bodies twisted into various fascinating shapes.  The front of the book had declared "YOGA" in big, red letters.

"Maybe this is more your style, Cas," Sam had said with a smile.  "I don't have the patience for it."

Patience just so happens to be where Castiel excels.  That's why he's sitting here with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly into his lap.  He's finished contorting himself already and his joints feel loose and smooth as he turns his face up to the sun's gentle warmth.  

He relaxes slowly, attuning himself to the barely audible babble of the creek and the morning songs of neighborhood meadowlarks.  It took practice, but he no longer scrambles to search the sky when he hears the cry of a circling hawk.  As he tucks away his thoughts one by one, the ringing sound of his siblings' voices fades out to be replaced by the ebb and flow of nature's song.

Castiel breathes in deeply through his nose and holds the air until his lungs burn.  It's still new and exotic, this breathing.  Every morning he tries to recapture the feeling of his first conscious breath as a human.  This morning he succeeds, the base of his skull buzzing with primal fear when he holds his breath a little too long.  The air whooshes out without his permission, leaving him dizzy when he refills his lungs.

Dean says that the things Castiel does to remind himself of his humanity are only 'adding insult to injury', whatever that means.  To Castiel it's a celebration of being alive.  The first breath he remembers taking, his first taste of water, the first time he felt cold or hungry or sleepy.  The first time those needs were  _satisfied_.  Castiel takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly.

The sun is climbing higher, its rays beginning to burn off the early morning chill as Castiel stretches and drops his chin to his chest.  He breathes and breathes again, concentrating on his body.  In the solitude afforded by the early hour, he can  _almost_ feel his own heartbeat;  _almost_ feel the blood rushing through his veins.  He shivers when a breeze tickles the short hairs on the back of his neck.

It's glorious, being alive.  He's never felt  _more_ alive than he does sitting here, the hands clasped loosely in his lap growing colder with every passing second.  He moves them finally when they begin to ache, dropping them palm up on his knees so that the sun can warm that skin, too.  A different sort of warmth settles in his chest.  It radiates out, swirling through his limbs until even his chilled nose is warm with it.

Peace.

He thought he knew what that word meant.  External peace - the trappings of peace - was something he sought and grew frustrated when he couldn't attain as an angel.  But this, this peace that comes as a gentle, buzzing warmth that makes his body vibrate to the ineffable tune of the creek and the sun and the meadowlarks has nothing to do with  _that_  kind of peace.  

This is selfish peace, something Castiel carries that no one can take away, something he needs more than the air that he takes in slow, careful sips.  This is the moment that sets the pace for what Dean calls with a fond smile, 'the first day of the rest of your life', whatever that means.  Every morning when this feeling settles like a warm blanket around Castiel's shoulders, he knows that everything will work itself out in the end if only he remains patient.

Castiel smiles when he hears Sam's footfalls breaking the dead twigs that litter the trail to his perch.  He doesn't move until he hears Sam's breath, still coming in soft huffs from his run.  When Castiel opens his eyes and turns to look, Sam is watching him quietly from the edge of the tree line, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"Breakfast?" Sam asks cheerfully when Castiel smiles.  "I'm starving!"

"Yes," Castiel says with a nod before he uncoils himself and climbs down from the boulder.  "Maybe we should get something for Dean and Kevin this morning, too."

"Nah," Sam says with a sweat-soaked grin.  "You snooze, you lose."

Whatever that means.


End file.
